Figures Of My BreakUp
by x.imagine.x
Summary: Smitchie. Mitchie's side of her break-up with Shane. Not really sure how to describe it. It's basically what she went through, presented using different numbers of different things... if that makes sense... Prequel to Moving Forward.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, so I have this story idea bouncing around in my head. It's pretty normal I think. Hopefully it's believable. Anyways, I hope you like it!**

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**Figures of Our Break-Up**

Three seconds. That's all it took. Only three seconds for my fairytale to come crashing down. Three seconds for some asshole photographer to snap a picture of him kissing someone who wasn't me and slap it on the cover of some stupid tabloid. Three seconds for me to spot the offending picture on a newsstand. Three seconds for me to run over to see if it was just my mind playing tricks on me. Three seconds for Sierra to run after me. Three seconds for her to try and pull me away, unsuccessfully, before she gave up. Three seconds for me to register what that picture meant. It only took three seconds for our relationship to be ripped apart.

Five months and fourteen days. That's all it was. I only got to live my fairytale for five months and fourteen days. He only lasted five months and fourteen days before moving on to the next girl. We only mattered to him for five months and fourteen days. It was five months and fourteen days before he broke my heart.

Fifty phone calls. That's how many I received. Fifty phone calls starting an hour after I discovered the picture. Fifty phone calls of him trying to get me to pick up. Fifty phone calls overflowing my voicemail. Fifty phone calls trying to explain. Fifty phone calls I refused to answer. Fifty phone calls before I threw my phone at the wall. Fifty phone calls more before I disconnected every single phone line in the house.

Seventy text messages. That's how many he sent. Seventy text messages telling me how sorry he was. Seventy text messages telling me he needed to explain. Seventy text messages begging me to pick up the phone. Seventy text messages asking me to answer. Seventy text messages before I stopped looking at them. Seventy text messages before I finally responded, to tell him to stop texting me. Seventy text messages before I told him I wanted nothing to do with him. Seventy text messages before I sent that one fatal message. Seventy text messages before I told him we're through.

Two days. That's how long it took. It took him two days to get on a plane. Two days for him to find the right words. Two days for him to knock on my door. Two days for him to stop trying. Two days for him to give up.

Four months. That's how long it was. Four months before I could hear his name without breaking down. Four months before I could look at another magazine. Four months before that damn picture wasn't all I thought about. Four months before I could watch Hot Tunes. Four months before I was able to listen to the radio without fear. Four months before I stopped being a basket case. Four months until I started to let him go.

Twenty percent. That's how much it dropped. My average dropped twenty percent while I was a living zombie. Twenty percent before my teachers became concerned. Twenty percent before my parents stepped in. Twenty percent before I was in jeopardy of failing my classes. Twenty percent before I finally came to my senses and worked. Twenty percent before I realized what he was doing to me. Twenty percent before I realized I couldn't let him.

One sentence. That's all she spoke. One sentence to make a swirl of emotions stir inside me. One sentence to bring back the memories. One sentence to turn my stomach into a series of knots. One sentence to make me sick. One sentence that made me want to turn and run the other way. One sentence for my carefully constructed, cheating/lying/jerk-free world to fall apart once more.

"Honey, you're going back to Camp Rock!"

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**A/N: Ok, I ran out of figures. And, just so you know, (I'm pretty sure there were no names in there) even though you can probably tell, it was Smitchie… And sure, some paragraphs weren't as good as others, but I actually think I like it… I'm writing a sequel, a fanfic of the next summer at Camp Rock. This just explains what happened to Smitchie because I like how it sounded better than saying: 'yeah, we broke up because I saw a picture in a tabloid of him kissing some bimbo…' That and the writing styles of this and the sequel are going to be way different, because I can't write a fanfic in this style… it just wouldn't work out… So it's a whole other story that I'll post in about a week or so after this one. It'll just be a regular, non-parallel structured story with regular writing. I'm not sure if that made any sense to any of you, so if it didn't, I'll sum it up:**

**I'm going to write a sequel. **

**It's going to be a continuation of this. **

**It's going to be what happens when Mitchie returns to Camp Rock for the second summer. (Not necessarily what I think is going to happen in Camp Rock 2. Just what would happen if this one-shot happened.)**

**It's going to be Smitchie. (with Naitlyn and Jason/OC of course…)**

**There? Was that so hard for me to type? I'm seriously doubting my communication skills right now… And I want to be a teacher… I feel sorry for any kids that have to learn from me…**

**I'll post another chapter here when I have the name of the sequel so that you can find it if you want to read it. I'll also post a teaser of said sequel. The first chapter of the sequel will then be posted the next day. After that… who really knows? **

**Alright, that's the end of that ridiculously long author's note, and I'll just say one more thing before I go:**

**PLEASE review! (because I adore reviews just as much as I do cookies… and sleep.) Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2: teaser and title

Ok, so this is the teaser and title of the sequel to **Figures Of My Break-Up. **I have finally decided that the sequel will be titled: **Moving Forward. **

Alright, here is the teaser:

_Caitlyn looked at me once again as I froze for the third time that day. She had seen the limo too. She grabbed my arm and tried to pull me away, but I stood still, watching, waiting._

_I held my breath, I knew it was him. The door opened, and out stepped Jason. He stopped short, opening his arms, tilting his face to the sun, taking a deep breath. Nate emerged a few seconds later, bumping into Jason. Nate gave an angry remark and Jason looked defensive. The two started in on an intense argument, before a third figure emerged. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. I felt the tears prick at my eyes as memories of that day I found the picture on that tabloid came rushing back. My eyes were drawn to him as he moved between the two, pushing them apart. He must have sensed my eyes on him, because as he separated his two feuding friends, he looked up, straight at me. I couldn't do anything but stare back. A tear fell. Dammit. I wasn't supposed to cry. As his eyes locked on mine, I saw the pain reflected in his brown orbs, but it didn't matter. _He_ was the one that broke _my_ heart. _I_ wasn't going to care about _him_ if _he_ obviously didn't care about _me_._

Ok, so thanks for reading this if you did (duh, obviously you did, because you'd have to read that part to be reading this part…) and I hope to have the first chapter of the story posted within a few days.


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